


It’s 3 a.m. and this alcohol tastes like you

by quandong_crumble



Series: I am come home [5]
Category: Iron Man (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Bad Decisions, First Breakup, Letters, M/M, Pining, Secret Relationship, Tony Feels, Tony Has Issues, Tony doesn't cope with separation well, Warning: Tony tries to write sexy stuff, bad language, letters never sent, moping, strikethroughs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-31
Updated: 2013-12-31
Packaged: 2018-01-06 20:19:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1111094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quandong_crumble/pseuds/quandong_crumble
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fifteen letters Tony didn't send to Rhodey while Rhodey was away on his first overseas deployment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It’s 3 a.m. and this alcohol tastes like you

**Author's Note:**

> This piece is very heavily inspired by [_15 Texts I Almost Sent You_ by d.a.s](http://backshelfpoet.tumblr.com/post/68248424702/1-i-left-my-favorite-pair-of-underwear-at-your). Title taken from the same poem.
> 
> Many thanks to [Saral](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Saral_Hylor/pseuds/Saral_Hylor), who is the best cheerleader and made all the appropriate disappointed noises at Tony's behaviour.

### Letter One

~~Dear Jim~~  
 ~~James~~  
 ~~My honeybear~~  
 ~~Rhodey~~

You’re an asshole.

You can’t just dump me and then run off to the Middle East. I can’t believe you left on that note. I can’t believe you didn’t try to talk to me before you went. You only called once. How’s a guy supposed to work up a decent sulk if he can’t ignore you a dozen times?

Dammit, we were supposed to fix this. I hate you!

I miss you so much I can’t breathe.

~~I love you.~~

 

### Letter Two

Thanks for the postcard, jerk. 

I miss you too. I miss your kisses. I miss waking up next to you when you stay over. I miss the way you smell after a workout. I miss your shoes and socks scattered through the living room and the way you can never manage to hang up your towel. The way you grumble at me for leaving half-empty coffee mugs everywhere. 

 ~~I miss your dick.~~  

I’m going to send you so many donuts. I’m also gonna send you lots of naked pictures of me so you get kicked out and have to come home. 

Fuck that, I’m not that mean.

 

### Letter Three

I’m so horny. I think about you all the time. I jerked off in the shower this morning and imagined you were behind me, rubbing off in my ass crack like you did three days before you left. 

There was supposed to be hot make up sex. That’s what’s supposed to happen when you fight. You were supposed to come over and yell at me some more and then shove me against the wall and fuck my brains out. 

You weren’t supposed to go. 

Being twenty sucks. Dad’s back on the wagon so there’s no booze in the house, and he confiscated my fake IDs again. It seems like too much hassle to get another one, but I could kill for a drink. I want a bottle of tequila and I want to drink it until I forget that I’m missing you. 

I’m gonna stick my fingers up my ass tonight while I’m jerking off and pretend they’re yours.

 

### Letter Four

Do you still love me?

 

### Letter Five

Your mom called to say hi and let me know she’d heard from you, and that you’d got the care package. She seems to think we’re over our fight. Are we? I want to be. 

If I could take it all back, I would. We should have spent that night together. Instead I got drunk in the bathtub and Jarvis had to get Dad’s driver to lift me out. ~~He’s nowhere near as sexy as you, don’t worry.~~

I can’t send you the letters I want to send. I can’t send you the presents I want to send. I’m so fucking useless!

I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. 

I miss you like oxygen.

 

### Letter Six

My knee’s been awful since you left but I did the half-marathon anyway. Big mistake. Now the doc thinks I might need surgery. Fuck everything. 

I’m on crutches until the swelling goes down, and I’m so uncoordinated you wouldn’t believe it. I wanted to spend yesterday in bed with an ice pack but Dad gave me a twenty minute lecture about hard work and how many times he’s worked sick or injured blah blah blah. I wonder if beating him to death with my crutches would be justifiable homicide. 

So, anyway, I went into work and hopped around in Prototyping for a bit but Matthews kicked me out the third time I burned myself (which wasn’t my fault, Jacobs tripped over my crutches). So I went into Design Development for a while. Jenny from Patents kept coming in and bringing me coffees and really boring paperwork to look over and I tried to be nice but she was all over my personal space so I might have got a little rude. 

Okay, you know me better than that. A lot rude. 

I dunno why, normally I’d be all over that, even if she is a bit old. I guess I just miss you too much. Jenny might have a fine ass, ~~but it’s not as nice as yours~~. 

I’m sorry. I’m no good at newsy letters. I read like a teenaged girl.

 

### Letter Seven

I fucked Jenny. 

I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry

 

### Letter Eight

I’m hung over, I ate my weight in donuts, and I think I tried to run on my knee last night. 

Is it possible to hate myself any more than I do now?

 

### Letter Nine

I don’t think your letter could have come at a better time. Thanks. I was considering just getting in the car and. I don’t know. Keep driving? Stop driving very, very rapidly? ~~There’s a nice bridge~~

Forget it. All I know is that I wasn’t dealing. Now I am. I can’t wait for you to come home.

 

### Letter Ten

I’m building you a new gun. It’s going to be the best gun you’ve ever seen. Compact, semi-automatic, and accurate as all hell. Hopefully. Dad’s giving me shit about the size and Obie’s nagging me about the potential production cost. He’s not exactly happy with my insistence that it was just for you.

And, since I’m only going to blowtorch this letter in a minute anyway, I can admit that I’m having trouble working on the accuracy. I’m not a good enough shot to test in person, and testing clamps and frames mean stuff all in real world situations.

Come home. Test your gun. It will be ready before your birthday.

 

### Letter Eleven

I miss your hands. You have huge hands. Long fingers. I miss the way you would spend so long fingering me open and lubing me up. Drive me wild. Make me beg for it. 

I’ve fucked a few guys, Rhodey. Not heaps, at least four (hey I was drunk almost all of spring break, all I know is I woke up in that hotel room and I’d had sex) but you’re the only person I’ve made love to. The only person that’s made it feel like more than just sex. 

I kinda went home with some douchey pop star last night. Donnie or Danny or something. Just wanted to, I don’t know. I just miss you so much. He was okay. Gentle, though a bit inexperienced. But it was just sex. And now I feel like shit about it. 

I figure we’re still technically broken up, yeah? So why do I feel like I just cheated on you? Again.

~~I’m so fucking messed up, honeybear.~~

 

### Letter Twelve

It’s been months. God. Can you still love me after all of this?

 

### Letter Thirteen

Apparently when you stop running but don’t stop eating, you gain weight. I’ve put on over five pounds, and Mother’s put me on a diet. Ugh. It’s like being thirteen again. 

I shouldn’t complain too much. I actually have a pudgy belly. It jiggles. A diet is probably a good idea. But grapefruit for breakfast? Really? Puke.

 

### Letter Fourteen

Two more weeks. Two more weeks and you’ll be back.

Please don’t let me do anything else stupid before then.

 

### Letter Fifteen

Your mom called and asked if I’d like to wait with her at the airport. You have the best mom, dude. Mine still goes all pale and tight-lipped if I mention your name, but at least she’s stopped calling it a “phase” and reminding me to keep this out of the media. As if I needed reminding.

I think I like it better when she pestered you for an “African American perspective” thirteen times in a conversation.

Hey, do you think your mom will let me come over for Christmas? I know it’s ages away yet, but I don’t really want to think about holidays at home. Dad’s drinking again and I haven’t spoken to him in over a month, and mom and I just keep arguing. I just want to pretend to be part of a happy family for a little while, you know? Ugh, that sounded so self-pitying. Sorry. Good thing this letter has a date with the oxy torch later.

Can’t wait for you to get back. Waiting feels like drowning. I need you like I need air.


End file.
